But some day she would find a place to love: there would be rosy apples on the boughs, and there would be flurries of snow blowing into her face. She moved a little nearer to him. The room was papered with green, large-patterned paper that was at worst a trifle dingy, and the arm-chair and the seats of the other chairs were covered with the unusual brightness of a large-patterned chintz, which also supplied the window-curtain. ‘Mad as hatters!’ ‘It is you who is mad,’ mademoiselle told him crossly. His name is John. He was wrapped in a laced roquelaure, which he threw off on his entrance into the room. Jack was caught, as in a trap, by the pendant tails of Abraham's long frock; and, instead of obtaining his release by his ingenuity, he only got a sound thrashing. No one could take the place for anything but what it was, and even Gosse hesitated in the doorway.
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